


Loving A Broken Soul

by LotusGirl



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Crack?, Gay Cafe, M/M, Mental Illness, Multi, OT3?, Wholesome, alix is nonbinary, lgbt café, mari is genderfluid, nathaniel is anxious and depressed, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusGirl/pseuds/LotusGirl
Summary: Nathaniel let out an exasperated sigh.It was getting bad again.





	Loving A Broken Soul

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

The alarm clock screeched and cried, warning him that the morning hours had come, and reminding him of how little sleep he had gotten last night. Nathaniel glared at the time, wishing for it to stop for centuries so he wouldn’t have to leave. Alas, to his disappointment, he had to go to school, no matter how much it pained him. Sitting up and dismissing the alarm, Nathaniel let out an exasperated sigh. 

It was getting bad again.

Everything was becoming incredibly grey and tiring, things that once brought him so much joy didn’t even spark a smile. He tried not to curl up under the sheets and think about all those wretched thoughts that came when it got bad again. It felt as though heavy weights were chained to his body, keeping him grounded to reality and making it so hard to get away. Nathaniel forced himself to stand up and get dressed. Nothing particularly eye-catching, just a comfortable hoodie and jeans. Heaven forbid he choose something that would make him anxious and self-conscious around others. That would be awful.

He picked up his messenger bag, trying to remember whether or not he did the homework. Oh well, they’ll probably review it without collecting for a grade. He could just copy it from a classmate.

A note was left on the kitchen table, from his parents, telling him they won’t be home until late at night. 

Well, that means they won’t worry about him, right? That’s always a relief. Nathaniel reached into the cabinet to grab a medicine bottle, popping two pills in his mouth and screwing the cap back on. The taste was bitter and unforgiving, but it was a change from the grey and nonexistent cesspool that thrived off of toothpaste and what little he ate. He flinched, suddenly hearing rain scratching away at the windows and roof. Of course it had to be  _ literally _ grey along with  _ mentally and emotionally _ grey. Good job, universe, you’re just so good at sapping away at his will to live, aren’t you?

Nathaniel picked up a black umbrella and headed downstairs, preparing for the death storm known as the cold and wet outside world.

Though storms were calming, the feeling of being wet while still clothed wasn’t fun at all.

Thank goodness the school wasn’t a far walk.

In the approach towards the building, an overly friendly voice called out, “Hey, Nath!”

He closed his umbrella, turning to see Marc, likely the brightest soul he’d seen in what felt like days. Just like his personal greyscale’s correlation to the weather, it seemed Marc’s heart showed on his skin and clothes, detailed with bright colors and rainbows. Of course he wasn’t this happy all the time, but today he was. He greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a light hug, only receiving a, “Good morning” in response.

Marc followed him into the locker room, watching him put the umbrella away and asked, “Luka and I were wondering if you were doing anything today, because we hadn’t hung out together, the three of us, in a while.”

Nathaniel felt his heart sink, saying, “I-I don’t know if  _ today _ is a good day. . .”  _ Or anyday. _

He stared into the artist’s averting eyes, and a wave of concern washed over him.

“Nath, are you okay? You seem really. . . out of it.”

“I’m fine. It-It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Nathaniel left in a rather “Please don’t talk to me about anything and don’t address me in any manner I’m scared” manner. Marc stared in suspicion before turning to another classmate of Nathaniel, asking, “Hey, Ivan?”

~~

Class wasn’t exactly his favorite thing in the world. The standardized courses weren’t terribly stimulating and interesting, even when he was okay, and it usually just prompted him into daydreaming more. Waiting for the drugs to kick in, his mind was filled with bloody roses, stars speckling skies he’ll never get to see, kissing the lips of a person he’ll never get to meet, horrors spread across emerald stained grasses and that didn’t bother him in the slightest. It wasn’t important. What a fantasy it was, one he wanted to stay in.

Of course, it was interrupted by Marinette screaming and stumbling into the room, stuttering excuses as to why they were late, as they always did.

Their entrances were always startling. Heck, their entire existence tended to do that because they were a living stress ball of panic.

Marinette was simply told to take their seat and Alya whispered a question, asking what their pronouns are. 

Hmm? A boy? Good for him, then. At least he knew for sure what he was, as opposed to those days when his gender was a confusing hurricane of madness.

Alix sneakily crept to the back of the classroom, asking for their homework back. He already finished copying, so he slid it across the table and muttered a half-hearted thanks. They didn’t have the time to ask how he was or why he was so dead, because the teacher was to turn around and see them out of their seat any minute.

Nathaniel didn’t care if the others saw him copying. Many of them have probably done the same, rushing to finish in time. Actually, he  _ knew _ and remembered a particular occasion when Alix asked Max for his science homework, because they had spent the night with the girls instead of doing it. Or so they said. What they were doing was unclear and suspicious, but he wasn’t one to ask about it. Marinette did weird secretive crap all the time and by now, they just stopped asking him unless it’s  _ really _ weird.

He rested his head on the table, a sleepy fairy coming to seal his eyes. Of course it would curse him into sleeping until the end of the day, not a single soul who would bother to wake him up. It was an excellent supplement for last night, though he didn’t retain a wink of information taught. He could always make it up later, right? Nathaniel sat up and saw his classmates leaving, talking about the little things in their lives and smiling away, not a single thing seeming to bother them. Though, as he himself started to leave, Ivan followed him, saying, “It’s really great to see you!” and embracing the tiny artist in a bear hug, nearly engulfing him entirely.

Truth be told, Nathaniel really was just a couple of grapes compared to him.

“Um, thank you,” he squeaked, “for the hug, I mean-- I think.”

Not that Ivan didn’t give hugs to everyone, but it did make him think back to Marc’s questioning this morning. Did he put Ivan up to this? Entirely possible. Next thing you know, he’ll be putting drugs in the food so everyone will be in a constant high before passing out on the streets. He’ll ruin the entire ecosystem in a matter of days. However, this wasn’t the time for conspiracy theories. It really wasn’t. Ivan let him back down on the floor, telling him to have a good afternoon, and Nathaniel just barely whispered a goodbye, in a hurry to leave with the sudden anxiety rising in his chest.

Mental illness really was a roller coaster, one that twisted and turned, up and down, until the tracks broke and dropped into a grave.

The rain had stopped, but the sky was still a light grey.

The umbrella could rest a while longer.

But he, however, could not.

Waiting on the sidewalk for him was Marc, and another bright soul. Luka. 

Luka wasn’t like Marc, their lights weren’t aligned in the same way. Marc was bright like the day after a storm, bringing life to plants who once thirsted in a drought and bringing out the people who hid from the thunder and rain. Luka was like the night time sky, stars speckling the dark silk backdrop to accompany the moon to bring out those whose clocks didn’t tick the same way as everyone else’s and comfort those who found fear in the sun. Yet they still shined brighter than a morning star in violet skies and orange clouds. Nathaniel wasn’t like them. He couldn’t find a way to light up a person’s life even if he tried.

“Hey, love,” Luka greeted him with a kiss on the head and a hug, “You ready for a great time?”

“Wait, when did we--”

“Good, you’re going to have so much fun,” Marc exclaimed. They winked at each other, leaving Nathaniel to conspiracy even more.

He decided not to go against them, following the other boys and gripping the back of Luka’s jacket to keep up.

He hadn’t a clue what they had planned for anything-- For themselves, for others, for being alive. It was more than a bit unnerving.

~~

Their first destination was the Couffaine houseboat. Although they claimed it was just to grab something.

Nathaniel stood with tense shoulders and Marc holding his hand as they waited for their friend to come back out. He kept thinking about how this could have been avoided if they just let him go home instead of on this nonsense expedition. What a regret it was. He flinched when Luka skipped back out, holding something in his hand.

It was a flower crown, with white roses and lilacs and lavender and other little flowers weaved into the base. 

He got down on his knee, saying, “We can’t go out without people recognizing our queen.” 

Following the gesture, Nathaniel tilted his head forward so they could don the floral crown with smiles painting their faces. “Aww, you’re so precious! What a cinnamon bun, honestly,” Marc cooed. Somehow, he couldn’t help but feel rather useless in their hands. He was like a small puppy being pampered and adored by the humans but had no idea what the heck was going on. With Luka to lead their adventure, they kept their affectionate hold on him and were off to the next unknown location. 

Truth be told, Nathaniel rarely explored the greater part of Paris, despite having lived there for most of his life.

He never had much interest in the little secrets and hidden jewels the back alleys and local surprises had to offer. There were usually noisy and grimey tourists wandering around everywhere, and even more so actual residents who lived there, and he wasn’t exactly willing to rub elbows with them. But this excursion did leave some rather pleasant imagery in his head; pretty flowers hanging from balconies and quaint and fluffy signs for boutiques and other shops. It almost felt like the sky wasn’t trying to rip his soul apart, or that their city wasn’t on the brink of shattering. Nathaniel noticed Luka’s pace began to slow and frequently turned back to look at him until they came to stop in front of a cafe.

It was a  _ gay _ cafe. Or, at the least, an LGBT cafe.

The pride was subtle, and the themes were similar to others he’d seen, but he knew this cafe in particular. His classmates and friends talked about it constantly, and he never had the interest or courage to go himself. Marc tugged on his hand and pulled him inside and they got in line. Nathaniel looked around, seeing two young women laughing together over coffee and a pastry and a person sitting by themselves with headphones and writing in a notepad. It was quiet and the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and caffeine dancing through the air. Cafes were nice like that. Although in that instant, he didn’t have anxiety about being seen as gay or some other sexuality or gender: it was about the very thought of talking to the barista or even just saying his order outloud. Truly mental illness was a roller coaster. Especially since Luka had offered to pay, making him feel ever so slightly worthless. He turned slightly and asked, “Is there something in particular you want? It’s okay to tell us.”

Was it okay to make a request? Was it okay to want something specific, or would that make him privileged and terrible?

“U-Uhm. . . is a buttermint tea latte okay?”

“Of course.”

Marc had settled for an iced coffee himself, and Luka sent them to find some seats, which ended up being a booth next to the window, and next to the two women he spotted earlier.

He couldn’t help but notice they were  _ staring _ at them with cheeky grins. Was there something about them that was making them stare? Was it their emo-punk rock aesthetic? The fact that three boys walked into a gay cafe and probably looked like boyfriends and/or a potential chaperone? Did they look like emo fishes looking for their son? Really anything could be prompting their staring and Nathaniel just sunk into his seat. “Don’t worry about them,” his friend said in a soft voice, “No one here is trying to judge you or make you uncomfortable. That’s probably why I love this place so much.” Marc gingerly held the artist’s hand, feeling his calloused fingers and stroking his palm. It was a habit he developed over their relationship, noticing how often and how dirty his hands got from drawing; graphite smeared on the side of his hand and fingertips, paint splattered over his nails and the back of his hand, and it became compulsive to want to rub it off. “What if it gets in your food, or you have an allergic reaction,” Marc would say early on, making excuses to want to hold and touch his hands. Nathaniel never minded, though he would tell him he wasn’t stupid enough to accidentally consume his media, and now they just let it happen.

With Luka, it was the opposite. He liked seeing his hands get dirty from his imagination and creations. He said it was an expression of his truest self, letting his soul out of its prison to have a one night stand of passion and beauty with the canvas under his tools. It was amazing to see such different perspectives on the same subject, and it made him smile to see what they thought was beautiful.

“Your Idol has arrived,” Luka announced, holding three cups in his hands and arms.

“Brendon Urie?”

“Gerard way?”

“Edgar Allan Poe--”

“No. You guys are too honest,” he laughed sliding them their individual drinks.

Nathaniel said a hushed thank you before bringing the tea to his lips to sip. It was fun when Luka pretended to be a hot shot as he just did. He really didn’t think anyone worshipped him, and preferred to be modest (considering how often his grammar and speech slipped up when he was nervous). But Luka was also the successful prototype in science experiments to merge human offspring and memes, and that really just encouraged him to enhance his stupidity for the enjoyment of both himself and others. Marc really didn’t have any self confidence so he left the work to the “professionals”, despite his love of memes and deadpan humor. 

He let his mind began to cloud with dreams again, while they started discussing the tiny little parts of their lives they set aside on a shelf so they could talk about it.

It was funny, when you took the time to think about it. When you come across something you dearly love and find so amazing and exciting, you want to show the people you love so they can enjoy it too. But what happened when something bad was discussed? Did people just start a never-ending cycle of hurt because they heard someone else was hurt, a person who would really rather not hear about it again. They’ve already been through too much to go through it again.

“Nath? Were you listening?”

Nathaniel woke from his daydream, suddenly realizing they were talking to him about something. Even worse, what if they asked him a  _ question _ ?

“No. I’m sorry. What is it?”

“We wanted to know if there’s anything new you wanted to tell us.”

He thought back to his sleepless night and the pills, and kept it in the back of his mind. They didn’t need to hear that. No one did. Nathaniel fiddled with the lid of the cup, looking down to avoid their gazes, and saying, “Well. . . I’ve been working on this new piece for the art gallery.” The two boys perked up, eager to hear more. Marc stroked a lock of his scarlet hair as he sheepishly explained the work in progress art. “I’ve been wanting to experiment with different art themes and color theory, so I’ve sort of been veering away from comics and anime to play with impressionism and memento mori and shifting the mood with different color palettes and grey scales. . .” Luka’s eyes widened with interest, replying, “Memento mori? That’s the, er, art thing that focuses on death, right?”

“Yeah it. . . it’s one of my favorites, seeing the death of others be remembered without so much sadness and portrayed even in something beautiful and peaceful.”

“It’s like gothic literature for little artists,” Marc noted, taking a drink of his coffee.

“I guess it is.”

Nathaniel swished his cup around, noticing how much he had already drunk. It was an anxious habit, really, and a good tea. He probably wouldn’t come back to the cafe to be queer or try to hook up with someone, but maybe for the the tea. Luka hadn’t drunk nearly as much of his hot chocolate but likely because, well, it was  _ hot _ . Also during this time, the cafe was becoming a bit more populated for whatever reason. Maybe adults were coming home from work and they wanted to stop bye, or other people had the same plan as them. “Say, Luka, maybe it’s time to go to the next place,” Marc said, also noticing the excessive human life scattered through the cafe.

Perhaps one of them should have said “Hope you brought your walking shoes!” before they began their day out, though the thought occurred that he didn’t own shoes that  _ weren’t _ made for walking. Actually, most shoes are for walking. Why would you wear shoes that you couldn’t walk in unless you physically couldn’t walk?

He tossed his empty cup in a nearby recycling bin and Marc had made an overexaggerated long sip before tossing his as well.

In their walk, Nathaniel looked up at the sky and noticed it was clearer. A good omen? Entirely possible. Is it certain? No. But in this scene, the surrounding landscape  _ wasn’t _ unfamiliar; in fact, he was quite familiar with this path.  _ Were they taking him to--? _ Crimson and grass shapes caught his eye. “I remember you told me you loved this place,” Marc said.

Paris had many gardens and parks for people to visit, but this one was particularly favored for Nathaniel. It was a rose garden with flowers tracing the paths and benches. He loved the beautiful colors and plants so much more than some plain trees and fountains. There was no one else in the garden, so it was just the three of them admiring the roses. Behind his back, Marc and Luka shot each other a glance before turning Nath around. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“What are you-- What do you mean?”

They both looked concerned before the writer stepped forward.

“Nath, you can’t deny there’s something wrong. You’ve been so distant and emotionless for the past few days.”

“We love and care about you, but there’s only so much we can do without you telling us the problem,” Luka added.

Nathaniel stood still. He should have known they could see through his walls, he should have known what this was all about. Guilt began to choke him, guilt over their concern about him despite his worthlessness and for what they’ve done for him. He really couldn’t deny it to their faces. Stretching his arms forward, he silently asked and they embraced him in a hug. It felt so safe and comforting in their arms, Nathaniel buried his face in Luka’s chest and gripped at his shirt. “You know you can talk to us about anything. You mean more to us than you think,” Marc whispered. Luka kissed the top of his head and he almost felt defeated.

“I-It’s just. . . I. . . I guess the depression is back again. . .Thank you, for being so kind to me and so patient. I know it’s hard to deal with someone who’s mental. . .”

Marc turned him around, saying, “Sweetheart, you are so much more than your illnesses. We’re always here for you and we’re always willing to help you get through this.”

For the first time in days, Nathaniel smiled.

He really was lucky to have them.

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this.


End file.
